Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: target

I wrote this poem in November of 2022.

Family life in the 80s
Family life in the 80s

my aunt treated us like we were inferior and subhuman
constantly pointing out our flaws with subtle sarcasm
putting pressure on my mom to choose her over us
insulting my father or sister
what about us made her project her insecurities
Was it my dad’s intelligence or my sister’s beauty?
or maybe she really hated my mom for having everything she didn’t have
a loving and doting husband
and all healthy children
What made us a target for my aunt’s abuse?

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: first grade

I wrote this poem in November of 2022.

me in 1987 in first grade

in first grade, I learned to be ashamed and embarrassed of who I was,
and where I came from
maybe the nuns were ignorant of the damage they were doing
and since that time I’ve had identity issues
for years, i gave up my language and my heritage in order to fit in-
to have proximity to being an American
but all it did was fuck up my identity
and while I have forgiven the nuns for the damage done
I have a hard time finding compassion for myself
I have a hard time letting go the guilt
For the pain I caused my family
I have a hard time understanding I was just a kid
desperately trying to fit in, to belong, to be accepted
to conform of the standards of being American society fed me

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: integration

I wrote this poem in October of 2022.

ready to get to integration


The scared and anxious little girl and the insecure and clingy woman tug at me-
I try to avoid them and lock them up in a box, but it never happens that way
They refuse to go away when a trigger of trauma visits me
And once again, I am lost in the alter ego I made up to protect myself
the one who shows up in confidence and screams through her poetry
but if I want to reach integration
I need to allow the little girl and the insecure woman space to reside within me
and honor them with powerful words of praise
because they, too, were part of my strength and resilience through the many traumas
It may feel painful at times-but for me to get to become a whole person
and reach emotional maturity – I need to walk hand in hand with the ones
who made me the powerful and confident woman I currently am

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: you won’t win

I wrote this poem in October of 2022.

I’ll still joke while I’m miserable-I’m a whole different kind of vibe

When I start to lose myself, death calls out to me
like a potential lover
it whispers my name and invades my thoughts
it shows me the many ways to chase it
Drive as fast as you can and lose control(no one has to know)
Accidentally take too many of your prescription meds
(they’ll say you weren’t feeling well that day)
or go for a dramatic effect and cut your wrists
with your razor from work
(oops you mistook your skin for a box)
Death tries to tempt me in many ways
and I count to 10 and scream
this time you won’t win

Posted on by pattytacuri

ride a motorcycle

Daily writing prompt
What could you try for the first time?
View all responses

Oxapampa, Peru

I’d love to ride a motorcycle for the first time in Oxapampa, Peru. It’s something that used to seem so scary to me but when I saw whole families riding motorcycles in Oxapampa in April on this year, I thought I want to do that. I’m sure I can make this happen on my next trip there.

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: fighting with my teenage son

I wrote this poem in October of 2022.

me and my teenage son when he was toddler

Me and my teenage son fight and I regret it the next day
I’ve watched too many people mourn their sons this year
I’ve felt the screams of those close to me
asking God why he took their babies too young
Young men who will never be fathers,
Young men who will never see their children grow up
into rebellious and sassy teens
and while I understand conflicts happens between
parent and child
I also know we’re both on borrowed time
and I don’t want our angry words
to be the last exchange between us
if its his or my last day today

Posted on by pattytacuri

poetry: christopher columbus

I wrote this poem in October of 2022.

for real, for real

Maybe it’s lack of sex or lack of sleep but I must declare-
Christopher Columbus is a piece of shit
Maybe it’s my own insecurities or maybe it’s a projection
but I must say you can get away with murder
if you’re a white male
Maybe it’s the BPD and the depression
But I must scream FUCK WHITE SUPREMACY

Posted on by pattytacuri · 1 Comment

poetry: that extra shift

I wrote this poem in October of 2022.

worst shift ever

I don’t want to work that extra shift but my discover statement
tells me otherwise-
it tells me that once again I’m falling into a world of debt-
for daring to live a life above my means, above my class
and if I’m not careful I can slip back into poverty status
so I’ll work that extra shift and stop trying to live
a higher class life that’s not meant for me yet-

Posted on by pattytacuri

poesía: la abuela interviene

Here’s the English Version of this poem:

Poetry: Remembrance

cierro los ojos y un maremoto de nostalgia viene hacia mi
y corro y corro y corro pero me alcanza que me ahogo
y parte de mi quisiera regresar a mi pasado contigo cuando era feliz
y casi, casi te mando un mensaje preguntándote
Como estas? Si todavía sigues con ella? Si, por fin encontraste la felicidad que tanto anhelabas?
pero, mi abuela interviene y me sacude, abro mis ojos y regreso a mi presente
y encuentro mi razón y susurro al universo que te deseo lo mejor
pero acepto que lo nuestro cuento de amor es algo definitivamente acabado
como los cuentos de hadas que papi me contaba cuando era niña

Posted on by pattytacuri · 2 Comments

poetry: Lima

I wrote this poem in September of 2022.

me in Lima in September of 2022

the nostalgia of Lima sets in
and I ache for the sights, sounds, and warmth
of my homeland-
even though it’s been a few days
I want to go back already
I don’t feel myself fully in American
my body’s here but my spirit was left in lima
maybe because the few memories I have of Lima
are happy and mostly pure from trauma
whereas in America
it’s been tragedy after tragedy
disappointment after disappointment
and while I’ve planted my roots here with my children
my spirit now resides somewhere in Lima